


Tu Me Manquais

by Mytrice



Series: Pianist!Victor [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, French dialogue, French!Victor, London Symphony Orchestra, M/M, Pianist!Victor, Sherlock speaking French, Viclock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytrice/pseuds/Mytrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock finds out that Victor is playing his first concert in London for six years, he knows that he has to be in the audience. What Sherlock doesn’t know is how his friends will react to meeting the man he can’t live without. </p><p>Viclock Gift Exchange submission for Faintestviolinist</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tu Me Manquais

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faintestviolinist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faintestviolinist).



> This is my Winter Viclock Gift Exchange submission for faintestviolinist, who essentially asked for French, Pianist Victor Trevor. I hope you like it. 
> 
> I’ve put links within the text which link you to the piece that would be playing during the moments described in the fic. 
> 
> Translations at the end, as usual.

_‘90-93 FM, online and on digital radio.  This is BBC Radio 3 with me, Petroc Trelawny. Welcome to breakfast this cold Friday morning. It is thirteen minutes past eight. Next, we’ll hear music from Stravinsky’s ballet, ‘The Firebrid’ as well as music from British composer George Butterworth. Before that though, I am going to play you a recording from the French Pianist, Victor Trevor, who will be giving a concert with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican this evening. I strongly recommend you go if there are any tickets still available. There are not many pianists who can take command of the piano in the way that Trevor can. This is his recording of Rachmaninoff’s[‘Little Red Riding Hood’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFMNhx2-VDE) etude, Opus 39 No. 6.’_

Sherlock inclined his head toward the radio in the corner of his kitchen as the dark sound of the opening chromatic scale filled the room. He could imagine Victor’s strong fingers striking the keys, his hands hovering momentarily over the piano before pouncing.

Sherlock could envision the look of concentration on Victor’s face as he paid attention to every detail of his playing, brows furrowing as negotiated the technical passages of the etude, the way his head would tilt ever so slightly to right whenever he reached the slower, more contemplative phrases.

“Have you told John about the concert tonight, Sherlock?”

Mrs. Hudson is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, washing basket tucked snugly under her arm. She has interrupted Sherlock’s train of thought and now the music on the radio fades into the background as he turns to answer her.

“Yes, I told him about it.” Sherlock replies curtly, as he stands up from the table. He walks to the corner of the room and switches of the radio, the sound of Victor’s playing had become distracting.

“Did you tell John about Victor?” She asked, apparently having come with a motive.

Sherlock tried to ignore the question, choosing to record the results of his experiment in his notebook instead, turning his back to show that the conversation had ended.

There was a sigh from the doorway, followed by the sound of Sherlock’s bedroom door being opened and Mrs. Hudson humming as she put clean laundry down on his bed. “When are you going to tell him, then?”

The  detective waved his hand over his shoulder dismissively. “I don’t know.”

Mrs. Hudson bustled back into the kitchen, the basket under her arm now empty. “You might as well wait until after the concert now but don’t blame me if John has a go at you for not telling him. I did warn you, dear.”

She sighed audibly, walking back out into the stairwell. “And that’s the last time I’m doing your washing this week, young man. I’m not your housekeeper.”

Sherlock smiled to himself and stood up from the kitchen table, stretching out his shoulders as he did so. He supposed that he probably should have told John about Victor but he’d never really found the right moment to do it. As time went on it was only going to get more difficult to tell him. Mrs. Hudson had only found out after she went into his bedroom to give Sherlock his ringing mobile and found Victor sleeping beside him.

* * *

 How are rehearsals going? –SH

You know what they say. ‘Bad rehearsal, good show.’-VT

Nonsense. They’re going wonderfully, aren’t they? –SH

Yes. –VT                                                                                  

* * *

 John was standing at entrance to the Barbican when he saw Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock coming towards him arm in arm.

The landlady, who had been trying to pry information about Victor from Sherlock turned and greeted the doctor, stopping their conversation before any of it could be overheard.

“How are you, John? Are you looking forward to the concert?” She asked, letting go of Sherlock’s arm and leading the way into the Barbican Centre.

“I’m alright. Bit tired but okay. I don’t really know what this concert tonight is. Sherlock only told me he had a ticket for me yesterday.” John replied, rubbing his eyes as they walked down the stairs towards the concert hall. “It’s a pianist, isn’t it?”

“Yes, he’s French, isn’t he, Sherlock?”Mrs. Hudson replied, turning her head so John couldn’t see the knowing smile on her face.

“Yes. I think he is. I’m going to pick up the tickets now.” Sherlock said hurriedly, turning swiftly and walking towards the box office, not giving John or Mrs. Hudson the chance to catch up with him.

* * *

Bonne chance. –SH

* * *

 

Sherlock stood back to let Mrs. Hudson pass him as they walked into their row of seats. The landlady passed him, squeezing his arm and giving him a knowing smile before sitting down beside John.

 The detective watched as John flicked through the programme, he already knew what the biography would say, he’d been there for most of the events detailed in it but he read the information anyway.

 

_‘Since winning the international Tchaikovsky competition in 2003, French Pianist Victor Trevor has become a virtuoso in the grandest sense of European pianistic tradition. He has performed with the world’s best known orchestras including theRoyal Concertgebouw, the Vienna Philharmonic and of course, the London Symphony Orchestra._

_After spending the last five years of his career performing and giving master classes in Western Russia, Trevor has made the decision to return to London. He is relatively unknown to the central European concert-goer but with his upcoming season ahead of him it is predicted that he will soon rise to the top of the European classical music scene. Trevor took Russia by storm in 2009, being described by the ‘The Moscow Times’ as being a rare performer who can ‘bring great musical insight to truly immaculate playing.’_

_In 2009, his recording, Rachmaninoff Etudes was released on RCA Red Seal, and in 2011 his Minsk Concert Hall solo recital was released as an album on the Mariinsky label. Trevor has recently signed a new record deal with the Decca music label and numerous recordings of both French and Russian composers are expected in upcoming years._

_Victor Trevor has been awarded the prestigious Shostakovich Prize in music as well as being made a chevalier dans l'ordre des Arts et Lettres in his native country of France. He is also a fellow of the Royal College of Music, where he began his musical studies and of the St. Petersburg State Conservatory where he completed his masters in musical performance.’_

Sherlock smiled as he remembered Victor at Music College. Victor’s hair had been longer then. Sherlock had been able to twirl the curls around his index finger before tucking them back behind his ears. He remembered sleeves with the cuffs stretched and misshapen from where Victor had pushed them up his forearm before he played. Victor didn’t dress like that anymore. Like Sherlock he dressed differently now, the knitted jumpers exchanged for crisp cotton shirts and the horn-rimmed glasses were only worn when contact lenses couldn’t be found. The detective didn’t prefer how Victor looked then or now. He was still Victor. He still began his day by practicing his scales. He still bit his bottom lip when he reached a challenging section, no matter how hard he tried not to.

They’d met after Victor’s dog had bitten him when Sherlock was jogging through Hyde Park. Sherlock had been studying for his under graduate degree at Imperial College at the time. That was before Victor went off to Russia and he went up to Cambridge.

 Somehow, despite the distance they’d managed to stay together. Neither of them where quite sure of how they’d managed it but phone calls and letters had been enough. There’d been surprise visits to dressing rooms and air-mailed sheet music that said more than letters could not.  Sherlock continued to stay with Victor in France every summer sometimes for a few days other times for weeks depending on cases and concert dates. It was now that Sherlock was beginning to appreciate just how grateful he was to have Victor back home with him. He’d missed the lazy mornings spent in bed. He’d missed stifling his laughter whenever Victor attempted to play jazz until the pianist gave up and laughed with him.

 “Have you finished reading yet, Sherlock?” John asked as he shook the programme in front of him.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I have.” Sherlock replied, sitting up straighter and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stop daydreaming about the man who was about to walk on stage.

“Good, I just wanted to turn the page. Have you heard this Trevor guy play before?” John said, turning to Mrs. Hudson. 

“No, I haven’t, dear. Sherlock told me he was worth listening to so I asked him to get me a ticket.” Mrs. Hudson replied, looking for a place to put her handbag before deciding that she should just put it under her seat.

“What about you, Sherlock?” John closed the programme and balanced it on top of his knees, nodding out of satisfaction when it stayed where it was supposed to be.

 _I’ve spent more hours listening to him play than I would dare to count._ “Yes, I’ve been to a couple of his concerts. I last heard him play last year in Moscow when I had a case there. He played very well.” Sherlock stated as the orchestra began to take to the stage, the woodwind and brass then the strings.

“This should be good then.” John replied, cut off from saying anymore as the orchestra began to tune.  

Once the orchestra had tuned there was a few moments of silence before they rose to their feet out of respect as Valery Gergiev, the orchestra’s principle conductor, walked on to the stage. He bowed politely to the audience before lifting the tooth pick he held between his thumb and index finger, gaining the attention of every member of the orchestra. He gave too silent beats and then the music [began](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFtNY5TA1HI).

Sherlock enjoyed the first piece immensely. It was Rachmaninoff’s third symphony, one of Victor’s favourites. The detective could remember hearing it playing from behind the closed door of Victor’s bedroom and listening to the Frenchman sing along to the more memorable melodies. He assumed that Victor was probably singing along to the concert back stage in his dressing room.

The final note of the symphony was followed by a loud round of applause which continued until all of the musicians had left the stage for the interval. It was then that a group of stage hands pushed a piano to the front of the stage. On his way out of the concert hall, Sherlock couldn’t help but smile when he noticed that the piano was a Bösendorfer. They were Victor’s pianos. He had played them for his entire life. It was the same make of piano as the one sat in the corner of the living room in Victor’s childhood home.

“Do you want a drink, Sherlock? Mrs. Hudson wanted some white wine. I was going to have a beer.” John said, as they stepped out into the large space outside of the auditorium.

“I’ll have some wine too, red though. Thank you.” Sherlock replied before walking over to the bench that Mrs. Hudson was sitting on.

The landlady immediately reached out for his arm and smiled devilishly. “Are you getting nervous, dear?”

Sherlock thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am. It’s difficult to decide whether it’s anticipation or nerves. I used to get nervous for him when I went to his recitals at university. He said me being there made him feel more at ease but I don’t know why. Surely that would make it worse.”

“Well sometimes, knowing somebody that you love is there and that they believe in you can calm you down.” She patted his arm gently, taking her hand away at the sight of John coming over with the drinks. “I bet you find having John at a crime scene is reassuring. I know you don’t love him in the way that you love Victor but friendship is still a form of love.”

“Yes, I suppose you have a point.” Sherlock conceded, taking his glass of wine from John and sipping it thoughtfully.

* * *

 After the interval the orchestra took to the stage again, tuned to the piano and then waited patiently for their conductor and soloist.

Applause slowly made its way across the audience as the conductor was followed onto the stage by a tall, thin man with a head of blond curls. He bowed to the audience and said a few words to Gergiev before sitting at the piano.

Sherlock’s fingers tapped agitatedly against his knee as he watched the pianist adjust the height of the stool. The concert hall was in complete silence, every member of audience waiting for what was to come. The detective suppressed a smile as he watched Victor fiddle with his sleeves as he knew the man would be itching to push them up to his elbows to get them out of the way.

When Victor was finally settled he sat up straighter, fingers poised above the keys as if they ready for attack before nodding to the conductor.

[Gergiev nodded](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9z8LfyKWzo&feature=youtu.be) minutely back before lifting his arms in a swoop and bringing in the French horns to play the opening fanfare. It was then that Sherlock couldn’t help but lean back into his seat as a wave of pride washed over him. Victor pounced at the keys, his fingers playing the opening chords, harsh and tragic, with great dexterity before the orchestra died away, leaving him to establish the main theme of concerto.

Sherlock closed his eyes in bliss as the orchestra played the romantic melody, the London Symphony Orchestra’s string section was arguably the best in the world and every member of the audience could hear why.

As the concerto continued Sherlock watched, entranced by the way Victor would bounce off of his stool in the loud stormy sections and at the way could keep the entire audience hanging on a thread in the wistful yet somehow foreboding second movement. The fingers that had been drumming against his leg now were still as Victor closed his eyes and played from, what Sherlock could only assume, was his heart.

The third movement was joyous and thrilling and showed of every ounce of Victor’s technical ability. It was amusing to watch the curls on Victor’s head bouncing in time with the music as he played above the orchestra. The music faded into a sweet melody, the bass notes in Victor’s left hand reminiscent of the darkness that had dominated the first movement before the final explosive phrase. Sweat was beginning to glisten on Victor’s forehead and it became clear that he was having the time of his life. The corners of his mouth were turned upwards in a smile and his cornflower blue eyes showed deep concentration.

Victor struck the final chord with all his strength and smiled brightly as the audience dissolved into rapturous applause. He jumped up from the piano to shake Gergiev’s hand as well as the principal violinists before walking to the front of the stage, bowing gracefully. A standing ovation began in the stalls and soon the entire concert hall was on their feet and clapping wildly. Victor motioned to the orchestra in thanks and applauded them before following the conductor off of the stage.

John bent down to pick up his coat to leave but Sherlock put a firm hand on his arm before taking it away to continue clapping. The doctor glanced at Sherlock in confusion before the applause grew louder again as Victor and Gergiev walked back onstage. The conductor standing to the side as the pianist bowed and took his place at the piano once again causing the audience to cheer.

“Encore.” Sherlock murmured when John looked to his programme for the list of pieces. 

Victor waited for the noise to die down before he began to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QB7ugJnHgs). The music was playful but dark at the beginning before becoming dreamlike. The bass melody returned bringing the piece out of its dream state and back into mischievous mood of the beginning. Victor moved freely with the music, his fingers travelling quickly yet with the upmost precision.

At the end of the last playful phrase, an ascending scale which skittered up the keyboard to reach the final note, the audience broke out into loud applause once again. Victor rose from the piano and bowed to his audience smiling in acknowledgement of the shouts of ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Encore!’.

Sherlock watched Victor walk off of the stage again with a proud smile on his face. His hands ached from clapping but he didn’t stop. He knew that Victor would play another encore. The detective couldn’t recall a time when Victor had played as well as he was now. He knew the man was brilliant and that he would go far but he had never imagined Victor could have an entire concert hall begging him for more.

The audience cried out even louder as Victor came to the stage again. He sat down at the piano, listening for silence before he took a deep breath and began to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvXOjl2HkjQ). The first few bars were haunting and sad but driven forward by the same repeated chord, emotions carefully controlled.

Sherlock knew what the piece was. It was a song without words. He knew where each and when every note fell. The detective smiled softly, the dark melody played they reminded him of evenings spent in Victor’s flat, laying sprawled across the sofa while the man played for him. The piece brought back a number of memories some better than others. As the piece reached its climax, Sherlock’s hand gripped the arm rest of his seat tightly, he felt slightly foolish as tears threatened to escape him. Victor had played this piece for him in attempt to say things that were left unsaid.

The piece gently drew to close, the repeated chord fading away into nothing. It left the entire concert hall immersed in silence for three seconds. Victor gracefully removed his hands from the keyboard and placed them in his lap before he turned to face the audience. The audience then broke into rapturous applause. They rose to their feet, hands still clapping wildly. Sherlock tried to ignore the look he knew Mrs. Hudson was giving him and so he focused on the stage, a proud smile on his lips.

Victor bowed again before walking across the stage to shake the hand of the conductor. He followed Gergiev from the stage, waving shyly at the audience before the door closed behind him.

The concert hall emptied quickly and it wasn’t long until Sherlock stood outside it, Mrs. Hudson squeezing his arm and John smiling at him.

“You were right, Sherlock. He was worth seeing. He was brilliant.” John exclaimed as he zipped up his coat.

“He is. Isn’t he?” The detective agreed. He was distracted, eyes focused on the door that lead backstage as someone keyed in the code to open it. “I just have to go and see someone. You can come to if you’d like.”

“Yes, we’ll come.” Mrs. Hudson laughed, looping her arm through John’s and following Sherlock across to the lobby to the door.

Sherlock keyed in the code with deft fingers and descended down a set of stairs at a pace that showed no consideration of Mrs. Hudson’s hip.

Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock turned right, walking down a curved corridor reading the name on each of the doors. He stopped in front of one, knocked softly and waited outside.

The door opened and Victor Trevor stepped out, he’d taken off his bowtie but was still wearing his jacket. His face lit up when he saw who was in front of him. “Bonsoir, Abeille.”

“Bonsoir, Victor.” Sherlock chuckled softly, pulling the man into his arms and speaking quickly. “Tu es incroyable et je t’aime.”

Victor leaned forward to kiss the detective, holding tightly onto the loose fabric on the back of the man’s coat. When the kiss threatened to become something more, Victor broke it, panting softly. “Moi aussi, je t’aime.”

It was then that Mrs. Hudson rounded the corner with John on her arm. She smiled brightly at the sight in front of her. “Oh, look at you two.”

Victor laughed and loosened his grip on Sherlock’s coat. “Hello, Mrs. Hudson. It’s nice to see you again.” He said, in slightly accented English. Victor spoke softly and would anyone he was speaking to his full attention. He turned to John who hung back, a confused expression on his face. “You must be John. I have heard and read a lot about you.”

“I can’t really the same about you unfortunately. Sherlock has never mentioned you but it’s nice to meet you.” John held out his hand for Victor to shake, forcing Victor to remove himself from Sherlock’s embrace.

“You were amazing, Victor. I had no idea just how brilliant you were.” Mrs. Hudson laughed, pulling the man in for a hug. “I want to come to all of your concerts in future.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure that Sherlock brings you with him.” Victor replied. “If you’d just give me time to change and to speak to a few members of the orchestra, I’ll come back to Baker Street with you. Sherlock said that I could stay the night.”

* * *

The next morning, Mrs. Hudson walked into Sherlock’s bedroom to find the two men asleep and wrapped around one and other. Victor woke first, running a hand through his hair and reaching for a pair of glasses before he spoke to the landlady. “Bonjour Mrs. Hudson.” He said sleepily.

“Good morning you two. I brought you both tea and The Times. There’s a review of your concert in it, Victor. I thought that you might like to read it.”

Victor sat up properly, nudging Sherlock awake in the process who huffed in complaint. “I would yes. Thank you.” He said, taking the newspaper.

Sherlock sat up, yawning softly as Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind her. “Donne-moi le journal. Je veux le lire. Oh, Nick Clark est la critique.”

Victor passed the newspaper across to Sherlock and picked up his tea. “Que dit-t-il?”

Sherlock scanned the article quickly before smiling broadly. “Il est dit, ‘Trevor truly lived up to all of the expectations that followed him to London from Moscow. The young Frenchman displayed both dazzling technical ability and courageous musicality in his breathtaking performance of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 1 with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican last night.’ Et puis il dit, ‘Trevor made the perfect debut in front of a European audience and I can see a promising concert season in front of him-.’”

Victor leaned over and pulled Sherlock into his arms, interrupting him before burying his nose in the detective’s curls. “Tu me manquais.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write this. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed writing something as much as I’ve enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> Translations:
> 
> “Bonne chance” - Good luck 
> 
> “Bonsoir, Abeille.” – Good evening, Bee. 
> 
> “Tu es incroyable et je t’aime.” – You are incredible and I love you. 
> 
> “Moi aussi, je t’aime.” – I love you too. 
> 
> “Bonjour Mrs. Hudson.” – Good morning, Mrs. Hudson.
> 
> “Donne-moi le journal. Je veux le lire. Oh, Nick Clark est la critique.”- Give me the newspaper. I want to read it. Oh, Nick Clark is the critic. (Nick Clark is a critic for the Independent and can be quite formidable.) 
> 
> “Que dit-t-il?” – What does it say? 
> 
> “Il est dit...” – It says...
> 
> “Et puis il dit...”- And then it says...
> 
> “Tu me manquais.”- I missed you. 
> 
> Music: 
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood Etude – Valentina Lisitsa 
> 
> Rachmaninoff’s Third Symphony – Concertgebouw Orchestra with Vladimir Ashkenazy 
> 
> Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 1- I recommend Valentina Lisitisa’s recording because that is my favourite but I couldn’t find a full recording on YouTube so I used Nasseri instead. 
> 
> Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G minor Op. 23 No. 5 – Valentina Lisitsa or Evgeny Kissin both of them are brilliant and very different interpretations. 
> 
> Rachmaninoff’s ‘Vocalise’ – Evgeny Kissin. This recording is exactly how I imagine Victor would play it. This piece has come to mean a lot to me so it was nice to be able to use it in a fic for a purpose. 
> 
> Gergiev really does conduct with a tooth pic. He says that it stops his hands from shaking and makes the musicians concentrate more. 
> 
> Thank you to Avidbooksniffer for helping me with the font on my foray into graphic design. (It wasn't a foray. I made it on PowerPoint. I'm not doing that again.)


End file.
